


Comfortable

by lightsway



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/M, Gen, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsway/pseuds/lightsway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lightning doesn’t understand why, but she thinks she might feel something besides irritation for Snow, and she doesn’t know how to come to terms with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place sometime in-game during FFXIII, after you find out Lightning's real name, but before the end of the game. Slight spoilers, slight angst, but mostly gen.

Part of her wishes Serah wouldn’t come back.

No, that sounds too harsh. Lightning loves her sister more than either of them really know. She would give her life a thousand times over to protect her baby sister, would threaten anyone who even dared to attempt to hurt her, and follow through on said threats if anyone actually did. She would do anything for Serah, and all the younger girl would have to do is ask. Ask, and Lightning would walk to the ends of Cocoon or Pulse or any other land necessary to get her whatever she wants. She loves her. She is her life and has been since even before they lost their parents.

But somewhere inside, terrifically deep inside, a guilty feeling tugs at her emotions. Something that pulls at her mind, that tells her, hey, maybe I don’t mind this. Maybe I could get used to this. Maybe…life could go on. Lightning hates herself for feeling this way, for even letting the remote idea that she could get by without her sister cross her mind for even the briefest of moments.

And yet…

Her eyes turn to look at the man sleeping on the grass not too far from her, her head turning only slightly as if afraid someone might actually see her looking. The pale light from the night sky spills across him, illuminating his features, casting into relief the sharp curve of his jaw, the goatee he infuriatingly refuses to shave, his strong nose, his eyelids. His eyelashes resting gently across lightly tanned cheeks. She thinks she feels an ache in her chest, but she turns away and looks back up at the sky before she can be sure.

\- - - -

It hurts the longer they have to travel together, but she can usually put off the pain by focusing on anything else. In the daylight hours, she uses every ounce of her energy to run, to fight, to think about her Focus; anything to keep her mind off the strange way she feels (that she refuses to admit is caused by him).

But she can’t escape it at night. There is no one to fight when the world’s asleep; nowhere to run when her companions are dozing in the few hours they get to rest their legs and eyes; and her Focus can only keep her occupied for so long. As she lies down and tries to get to sleep on the cold ground, she concentrates on the brief images that were flashed in her mind when she was branded as a l’cie. But it’s limited how much time she can spend on two and a half seconds of what she hopes isn’t the end of the world. And then, before she can stop herself, her mind wanders.

Not too far, she tells herself. Not too far, because it’s already hard enough to admit that he even means anything to her. Is it love? No, don’t be stupid, Claire, she berates herself. It can’t be love because she doesn’t smile like a moron whenever he’s around. She doesn’t want to laugh and go to the beach and make wedding plans. Quite the oppose: he makes her want to cry.

She doesn’t know why since his favorite pastime is teasing her and joking around with her (even if she doesn’t joke back). Part of her wonders if her suppressed tears are because she knows she can’t have him, but then she rolls onto her side, curls slightly into herself, and tells herself she’s stupid for even remotely thinking the word jealous.

\- - - - -

He sits beside her the next time they stop for a while, his usual, ‘Hey sis!’ on his grinning lips, and it doesn’t take much to keep her small, amused smile in check as she lightly punches him in the arm and demands that she isn’t his sister.

He talks to her, something about naming his future daughter after her, and Lightning scoffs because she knows he isn’t kidding, even though his tone of voice is the one he uses when he jokes with her. He starts going on about various other things, but she hits his arm again to stop him before he can keep talking, then tells him that he can’t abuse the knowledge of knowing her real name. And as he’s laughing out a reply, she realizes.

Her façade is invisible to him. He knows how she feels about the situation with her sister, about giving her sister up to someone else (no matter how much they care for her), about losing their parents, about just wanting to make things right. He can see how lonely and afraid she is inside. He sees through her mask, and without even realizing it, she’s been able to be herself around him all this time.

And somewhere deep inside, where that strange ache has never quite left, she feels okay with this. It feels okay.

A small, satisfied smile settles across her lips, but if Snow notices, he doesn’t stop his ramble about his and Serah’s future to acknowledge it.


End file.
